


rules of an office christmas party

by sarah_dude



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_dude/pseuds/sarah_dude
Summary: Bernie's realises that she's never actually been to an office christmas party before.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictorium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/gifts).



> Christmas fic in February for a birthday present? Why not. Happy Birthday Lola!!

“You know,” Bernie starts in that quiet way of hers. “I’ve never been to an office Christmas party before. Not, well, not a real one at least.”  

Serena looks up from her computer screen.  

“Really?”  

“I guess festivities in the field passed as a few paper chains and Mariah Carey on loop for a few hours where everyone just drank a bit heavier than usual.”  

“Ah- so you _have_ actually been to a standard office party then.” Serena says with an eyebrow raise, and waits for Bernie to say what she actually wants to say.  

“I did go to an awful Christmas ball with Marcus, once, before the kids were born.” She leans back in her chair and gives up on the illusion of work to fidget with the pen in her hand. “Everyone there addressed me as Mrs. Dunn and I had to stay sober to drive.”

“God, sounds like a specific circle of hell, that.”  

Bernie snorts. “It was. I wore a corseted gown.”

“Oh, please tell me you have photos!” Serena says leaning forward over her keyboard. “Or better yet, tell me you still have the dress.”  

“My point is-“ Bernie carries on, pointedly ignoring Serena. “I’ve never been to a real office party and I’m wondering if there’s anything I should know?”  

“Know?”

“Etiquette? Rules?”  

Serena melts a little. “No. Well- I mean, of course there are the usual cliches to be avoided, such as drinking too much, starting controversial conversations and sleeping with a colleague but since I intended to do at least two of those things I don’t think there’s anything I can advise you on. Might even aim for three out of three if I’m feeling inspired.”

Bernie blinks.  

“Oh! There is one thing actually.” Serena perks up noticeably. “Festive wear!”  

Bernie shakes her head and points the pen accusingly across their shared desk. “No. I’m not wearing that jumper.”

“But Bernie,” Serena says with that wicked pout Bernie is weak to. “You asked what the rules were.”  

**

The pub has paper chains and the muffled sounds of ‘All I Want For Christmas’ playing over the loud chatter of all her colleagues, just as Serena predicted and from the moment Bernie steps through the door she feels a tightness in her chest, the discomfort of _so similar_ and yet _so different_.

She picks a little uneasily at the sleeve of the jumper. There isn’t an unknowing eye from the AAU team as they greet her, since most of them spent their rounds dodging a jumper wielding Serena and her puppy dog eyes. Bernie wearing it now only proves once and for all that she’s the most susceptible to that particular look, a fact that isn’t exactly news.

Morven pulls her over to the bar, chatting away in her infectious manner as they wait for the barman to pour out their order.

“I like the jumper.” Morven smiles and Bernie lets out a bark of self deprecating laughter.

“Ha! Well, yes, I was informed of the dress code.” Bernie says, and nods towards Morven’s own jumper, olive green with a white EKG line spiking across it. “Don’t be Tachy. Very nice, topical.”

Morven grins, clearly chuffed and thanks the barman as their drinks arrive. “You know technically, it should- oh wow.” She stops and stares at something over Bernie’s shoulder. Confused, Bernie looks to where Morven is fixated and understands why her sentence cut off.

Serena has walked in and is a knockout in a deep burgundy dress, fitted at her waist, the material flaring out a little over her hips cut and cut flatteringly at her knees.  

She reaches out blindly for her wine glass and moves to join Serena, but Serena is already walking towards her across the makeshift dance floor, blushing a little at something Morven whispers in her ear as she passes. Bernie feels a stab of guilt at not noticing that the girl had left her company, but then Morven winks and waves two thumbs up unsubtly behind Serena’s head and Bernie feels the guilt fade away into a blush.  

“Nice jumper.” Serena says with a head tilt.

There’s a glass of red wine placed next to her hand the very moment she arrives at the bar and she spares a moment to smile in thanks at the boy serving. It shouldn’t be so appealing to Bernie to see Serena effortlessly own the room, but she’s weak.  

“I was told there was a festive dress code.” Bernie replies slowly giving Serena another head to toe appraisal. “And while I’m very much appreciating the dress there is not a single festive thing about it.”

“Oh come now,” Serena says coyly, picking up her wine and taking a long sip with a smug little smile. “I’ll have you know I’m wearing something very festive.” 

Bernie shouldn’t find Serena’s mischievous face so damn attractive either but she’s losing all her battles of will today.  

“Enquiring minds.”  

Serena puts her wine glass down and leans across the small gap as if she’s about to share the biggest secret. Bernie’s finds herself tracking Serena’s tongue as it wipes the wine from her bottom lip.

“Stockings.”  

Bernie’s hand curls into a fist. “...Oh.”  

“Hmmmm.” Serena hums with another altogether infuriating little smile and lifts her hand to fluff the hair at the nape of her neck and Bernie notices her jewellery.  

Small hand painted clay earrings, shaped like Christmas stockings.  

“Oh.” Bernie says on an exhale. “They’re very lovely.”  

“Yes, I thought you might quite like them.” Serena says through a laugh and leans back in again, lowering her voice. “Thought you might like the _actual_ stockings I’m wearing too, garter belt and all.”

She dares to, of all things, reach out under the guise of straightening the collar of Bernie’s now horridly stuffy jumper and spends a long few seconds stroking the side of Bernie’s neck with her thumb. Serena seems mesmerised until she suddenly leans away, picking up her wine again and takes another mouthful, blush staining her cheeks.

“Is it too early for the sleeping with the colleague section of the Christmas party?” Bernie blurts with no finesse.

Serena almost chokes on her wine, still unused to Bernie being comfortable enough to make such a bold move.  

“Not at all,” she rasps and finds herself being pulled away suddenly from the bar, hears Bernie excuse herself through the crowd, something about getting water on wine spill before it stains, before they’re through the bathroom doors.  

It’s blissfully empty and Bernie kisses her right there, hot and dirty from the start, pressing her back against the door to stop anyone from walking in.  

“You know they’ll talk right?” Serena gasps as Bernie shakily drags her teeth up the side of Serena’s neck.  

“Let them.” Bernie says. “They already know.”

“We should at least take a stall.” Serena presses.  

Bernie makes a noise of disagreement from somewhere between Serena’s collarbone and ear. “They saw us come in together, if anyone's stupid enough to follow I think a single stall in use would give the game up a lot more than us being out here.”  

“How can you be thinking of logistics right now?” Serena says. “When you proposed having your hand in my knickers less than 2 minutes ago?”

“On that subject,” Bernie says and lets her hand dip down to the back of Serena’s knee, tracing her fingers up the back of her thigh before she finds the lace top of the stockings Serena had promised.  

“Good lord.” Serena sighs, head thudding back against the door. “You’d think we’d be too old for this by now.”  

“Speak for yourself.” Bernie mutters, letting her fingers trace along the fabric connecting Serena’s stocking to the garter belt.  “Now, Ms Campbell,” she says lightly “Is this where I make the awful joke about you being on Santa’s naughty list?”

Serena’s shaky laugh is magical and Bernie leans forward to pepper small kisses down her neck to where her should disappears underneath material and up again.

“Only if I can make a joke about being punished for it…” Serena breathes out.  

Bernie pauses and grins against Serena’s jaw.  

“Later.” She promises, continuing to land soft kisses everywhere she can. “When we have more time and more space.”  

“Oh.” Serena exhales and her legs being to tremble. Bernie isn’t sure if it’s the suggestion of more to come or the continuing movement of her thumbs.

Either way, she’s delighted.  

Or rather is delighted right up until the moment they’re both jolted back to reality by an unexpected push at the door.

“No one stupid enough to follow? We should have known,” Serena says, only slightly out of breath as Bernie tugs the skirt of her dress back into place. “that necking like teenagers against a loo door was never going to win either of us any favours.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Bernie says coyly stepping backwards, not looking away from Serena. “I feel like I won something alright.”

“Yes?” Serena says with a smirk, following Bernie until they’re pressed together again. “Do tell.”

They are only millimeters apart from kissing again, Bernie’s hand slipping down and around the curve of Serena’s waist when the door is pushed open again, too hard, slamming into the wall with a bang.

“Oh, whoops.” Jasmine says, clearly buzzed from too much mulled wine and dramatically covers her eyes. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She blurts.

Serena rolls her eyes and huffs as Morven arrives a second too late to grab Jasmines arm in a bid to tug her away, but the moment is already over.

“Did you manage to get the wine out?” Morven asks politely as Jasmine steps quickly into a stall.

“The wine?” Bernie says. “Oh! Yes, the stain. It’s a little damp but I’m sure Ms. Campbell will live, won’t you?”

Serena just tilts her head dangerously and raises an eyebrow. “Nothing I can’t fix by myself when I get home, I assure you.”

“Ouch.” Bernie purses her lips in feigned injury, which turns into a grin when Morven fails to suppress a squeal. “Message received.”

“Right, well.” Serena says for the benefit of their company, looking away from Bernie with a visible show of effort. “Thank you for your help with my wine stain, but we should probably head back out, wouldn’t want you missing the rest of your office christmas party experience.”

“‘Once more unto the breach’ then.” Morven offers up with her eager face.

“Henry V.” Bernie shoots, continuing a game the two of the have started to play on the ward.

“Also the title of a Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode.” Serena adds, turning to touch up her lipstick slightly in the mirror, where she catches Bernie’s and Morven’s matching shocked expressions. “What? A girl can have a hobby, can’t she? Besides,” she continues. “I do live with my nephew remember.”

“I’d like to see that.” Bernie says. “I bet you’re a Janeway girl.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Serena says, wiping under her lip one last time to catch all the colour that’s smudged off. “Why would I be a Janeway girl when my type is obviously blondes who wear tight trousers and communicate terribly.”

Bernie scoffs. “Seven didn’t communicate terribly, she communicated logically and clearly. I don’t do that!”

“Aha!” Serena says, vindicated, but before she can continue the toilet flushes and she remembers where they are. “Tell you what, why don’t you buy me a wine and I can tell you all about a bright eyed and bushy tailed Serena being inspired by Voyager, call it our ‘controversial conversation’ segment of the evening.”

“I’d like that. Morven?” She asks. “Care to join?” Bernie finds herself momentarily surprised that it’s a natural, genuine and easy offer to make, that maybe she’s getting better at expressions of love, if only in the small ways.

“I loved Janeway too.” Morven begins to gush as they exit that bathroom together. “Totally inspiring.”

“By the way,” Bernie whispers to Serena as they all make their way to a free table. “My trousers aren’t tight.”

Serena just laughs and gently pats Bernie on the bum, right there on the dance floor.

“Of course not, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing something a little longer for this pairing, so I hope it works and that you enjoyed! Thank you Kitty for being a beautiful beta and insisting, after I kept making you check it, that it was fine.


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